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At a Columbus Day 2011 event put on by the Knights of Columbus and the Daughters of the American Revolution, the President’s Own Marine Band provided music. Occupy DC was also in attendance.

Younger Knights of Columbus handed out programs for the event.

Amongst those saying the Pledge of Allegiance are Daughters of the American Revolution, and a young woman in a Che Guevara t-shirt.

In their founding, The Knights of Columbus are an expression of the later American sense of Columbus as the “first immigrant.”

Protesters from what had been Occupy DC came and expressed the more recently engendered view of Christopher Columbus.

A man stops by after the event to pay tribute. Behind the monument is Union Station, from where Americans could continue the explorer’s westward path.

When little is known about an historical personage, that person becomes like an ink-blot test: we project onto them perceptions born of our current beliefs.

In her very informative book called America Discovers Christopher Columbus, historian Claudia Bushman studies how Americans have used Columbus to their own cultural ends. Early on, Columbus was seen as a visionary who foretold the American Experiment, and later he became the “first immigrant.” Today, many see him only as the man who brought slavery, genocide, and disease to an idyllic New World. His earlier reputation, for these many, is voided.

While keeping the modern image of him in mind, I see Columbus as the proto-immigrant. He sailed off toward his illusion of where Asia and its riches lay; this illusion sustained him through his voyages. Even with his intimacy with the Caribbean and its peoples, the explorer spent the rest of his days believing he had found a new route to Asia (to his credit, he died young). His obsession with finding this route cost him naming rights for the “New World”: we could refer to this hemisphere as the Columbias, but instead we call it the Americas, after Amerigo Vespucci.

Similarly, many of our ancestors set off with illusions of what they’d find once they reached the Western Hemisphere. Having been lured across the Atlantic by letters describing great natural abundance to be found here, one early American colonist later mused that such letters must have been written during wild strawberry season. The hope behind the immigrants geographic change is the same that sustains us all everyday: it’s that a day’s toil somehow improves our lives, and if so endowed, the lives of our dependents. That said, immigrating is a greater adventure than commuting to the office park.

All our ancestors answered the call to adventure. The strange land called, but something also pushed them out. Was it eviction by a landowner? Religious oppression? Hunger? Indeed, some came here with no beckoning from the New World at all, but instead at the prod of slave traders.

My Columbia journey came when my landlord in Brooklyn announced he was kicking everyone out so he could renovate that three-storey brownstone and move in with his family. Within days I was saying: “This is great!” I was too comfortable in my New York life, and for an artist, comfort can be life-sucking. I’d already been wondering—how will I make that body of work that will move my career to the next level? That knock on the door was my answer, and my call to adventure.

No matter how we view Columbus’ actions once he arrived in the Western Hemisphere, nothing can take away from his daring act of sailing off in a direction toward which none of his peers had ventured. When I think of judging his later actions, I recall that my ancestors were among those who enslaved Africans and murdered Native Americans.

Columbus and these ancestors were products of their times, but I also see that many of their contemporaries chose differently. Humbly knowing that no one is immune to the influence of their surroundings, I can only hope that were I living then, I would follow that alternative path.

Even as my parents have lived in Savannah for a decade, my visits with them centered on exploring nature out by the rivers, not in exploring the charming city. So a couple of days ago I ventured in, and found that Columbia dwells there, too.

This is the guest room. The consistently excellent quality of the home’s design and furnishings is extraordinary.

The top landing of the beautiful staircase.

As the Power Ranger toys on the Renaissance chest suggest, this is the little boys room–an amazing visual feast to inspire a young imagination!

A corner in the master bedroom.

The amazing master bedroom on the top floor.

While I prefer the other images of the living room, this overview shows my effort to supply blank ceiling space so the graphic designer can drop in headline text. I will also seek to put in a blank space for the gutter of the double-page spread (this one doesn’t quite have a good one).

I see many of America’s finest homes, and I can humbly state my opinion is well-informed. IMO, this room is almost peerless.

I try to supply the magazine’s editor and layout team with a variety of compositions.

A room filled with light–and with objects exquisitely conceived and made.

Alexander Calder once lived in Arader’s townhouse; he arranged to design and install a custom sidewalk for much of the block. He is one of America’s greatest, and most popular, artists.

The row of extraordinary townhouses, with the Arader establishment at center. The sidewalk is designed by Alexander Calder.

It’s my express goal that my Columbia America By Another Name will have me photographing in the homes of Americans from all walks of life—the rich, the poor, and the in-between. My day job, though, brings me into the homes of a very particular and passionate bunch: collectors of art. Continue reading →

On Monday I had the distinct pleasure of accompanying Ken Bowling and some George Washington University undergraduates on a trip to nearby Mount Vernon. We visited the estate’s gristmill and distillery, as well as a slave cabin and threshing barn. These sites elucidated food production at our first president’s estate as part of their class, “George Washington and His World”.

I first met Ken last winter when I interviewed him for my video documentary on the history of the Columbia name. His book, The Creation of Washington, DC, particularly suited him to explaining the origins of the District of Columbia. Since then, I have enjoyed stopping by to see him and his fellow historians at the First Federal Congress Project in downtown Washington, DC.

I hope you enjoy these images and the notes that accompany them.

Mount Vernon interpreter Steve Bashore commences our tour of the gristmill. Though there is controversy about the word’s etymology, grist means “grain”.

As the new president had to sign every patent issued by the new country, Washington’s attention was captured by Patent No. 3, a fully automated gristmill by a Baltimorean inventor. This forward-thinking farmer immediately made inquiries!

The hopper holds the wheat that descends from the second floor via the chute at upper left. The mill has two pairs of grinding wheels: one for wheat, the other for corn (maize).

The wheat enters the grinding millstones through the center hole. The space between the two stones is carefully controlled to avoid actual contact between the surfaces, lest friction burn the newly made flour or stone flecks similarly ruin the product. The newly ground flour falls below the grinders, and is automatically elevated to the top level via cups on conveyor belts.

The mill’s wheels are powered by water that descends through a very long mill race. While drought conditions at times effected production, the inherent storability of grain mitigated this effect.

Even as effort is made to space the millstones to keep the flour from burning, it still emerges too hot for sifting. This device churns the flour after it arrives on the third floor for cooling. Entering this mandala like form at the edge, it eventually descends to the mill’s second floor via a hole at center. Flour that is too warm will clog the silk sifters, the final process before bagging.

The gristmill seen from the path to the distillery. Informing my own fascination with the mill was knowing my Scottish ancestors owned a flour mill in Douglas, Ontario.

Inside the distillery. Water is heated here in this copper kettle, and then manually poured into barrels containing a “mash” of grains to commence the fermentation process.

One of the stills and some casks in the reconstruction of the Mount Vernon distillery.

A detail from the modern-day work area of Mt. Vernon.

Estate overseer James Anderson is depicted in front of the model slave cabin. It was the Scottish Anderson who convinced George Washington to take up distilling spirits.

Ken Bowling looks on as James Anderson, Washington’s overseer, is depicted by an actor speaking with a crackerjack Scottish burr.

At lower left is the slave cabin’s root cellar, with sand to prevent bruising of vegetables. Look at all that light from the sky shining down the chimney!

A view of the slave cabin interior. An historian from the University of Maryland who accompanied us informed me that slaves locked their cabins to preserve their few personal effects.

Looking into the rafters of the threshing barn.

A view of the Potomac. Some members of congress feared, through his supporting the capital placed so near his own lands, that Washington was self-dealing. Hence, congress forbade federal development on the Virginia side of the this river.

The interpretive slave cabin seen from the threshing barn. In the museum’s earliest days, slaves were referred to as “servants”. The chimney is designed as not attached to the dwelling, allowing it to be knocked away in case of chimney fire.

Exterior view of the threshing barn.

Mt. Vernon’s location was predicated by the Potomac River. Rivers were the superhighways of Washington’s day, allowing the estate’s produce to be exported to markets both domestic and foreign.

As it did with Mount Vernon, the Potomac defined the capital’s placement. Many of America’s Columbia towns and cities are similarly situated on waterways. Washington had hoped the Potomac would be the river that united the new western states with the coast. The Mohawk River / Erie Canal / Hudson River won that honor, and created New York City as the richest city in the nation.

My great-great-grandmother, Martha Brandt, grew up in Ancram, Columbia County, New York. The Brandt’s neighbors possessed a good Dutch surname—Kipp. Just this October I was two towns north from Ancram, in Claverack, and stumbled upon an 1847 Greek Revival farmhouse for sale, and photographed it with the owner’s permission. Their last name is Kipp.

This line of the Kipp family had purchased the farm around 1900 from the Van Rensselaers, who had built it (see note below about my own descent from the early Van Rensselaer family). I had the pleasure of meeting two of the grown children who are selling the property—I thank them for the opportunity to record this place! The realtor, Tammy Molinski of Coldwell Banker, was also wonderfully gracious and patient as I pored over every detail of this remarkably preserved Greek Revival home.

The Greek Revival style was popular during the Early Republic, both as a show of solidarity with Greece as it fought its own war for independence, and as means of imbuing our new country with a semblance of history. Miss Columbia, America’s secular goddess symbol, was born from this same urge toward creating an American culture rooted in European history.

The porch with temple pediment and under the eaves windows–all handsomely Greek Revival.

A view of the front door.

The stairway is excellently preserved.

Note that out the right window you can see the Berkshire Mountains.

All the doors in the house have a wonderfully austere Classicism.

These mantles were designed to have a cast-iron stove before them. Note the wonderful Greek pediment over the door!

Throughout the house are gorgeous vintage linoleum floor coverings–from the 1930s? I’d love to know.

One of the downstairs bedrooms; I am considering this for my portfolio.

Looking toward the attic door. I am considering this for my portfolio.

The door to the over-kitchen attic from the upstairs; this sort of original hardware is throughout the home.

The attic over the kitchen. I figured it was farmhand shelter, but the Kipps never had hired help.

Of of the bedrooms; the former presence of a stove for heat is clear.

The large kitchen.

The mudroom entrance to the kitchen.

A view of the north side of the house. The rear comprises the large kitchen and mud rooms.

A view of the south side of the house.

A very proper, later Greek Revival facade.

The amazing trellised columns. And do note the details above the windows and doors.

The Berkshires are visible in the distance. Another part of the property has views of the Catskills.

Background on me and Columbia County: Though my paternal grandmother’s farm in Pine Plains, New York was just 10 miles south of the Columbia County border, I’d never crossed that line until this year. The Shekomeko Creek passed through her land on its way north through Dutchess County to rendezvous with Columbia’s Roeliff Jansen Kill. The word kill, Dutch for creek, highlights the region’s history.

The Roejan, as it’s locally known, flows through the Town of Ancram. My maternal grandmother’s grandmother, Martha Brandt, was born and raised on Ancram’s west side, which could place the Brandt farm on the Roejan.

My mother’s mother had said that the Brandt family was Hudson River Valley Dutch. My own research showed this was mistaken: just as the Pennsylvania Dutch should be called Pennsylvania deutsch, Martha’s ancestors were born in Germany. Martha’s great-grandfather was a Hessian soldier hired by the British, who then defected to the Patriot side of the Revolutionary War. He settled in Ancram at the cessation of hostilities.

While the Brandts are on my maternal grandmother’s side, as noted in a previous post, my maternal grandfather descends from the Van Rensselaer family. The Van Rensselaer name passed from my lineage when Maria Van Rensselaer married Pieter Schuyler in 1691.